


Enough

by hdarchive



Series: What I Need [17]
Category: Glee
Genre: BadBoy!Blaine, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 03:13:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5989986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hdarchive/pseuds/hdarchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's amazing how fast his whole future can break, how hard he can try and still fail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this took a while, I just don't want it to end (and I was finally watching all of Star Wars). I've mapped it out and there are two more parts left. 
> 
> Some warnings for this part that are a bit spoilery: mentions of violence, bullying, homophobia. Nothing too extreme but please feel free to ask if you want to know anything else! (Karofsky isn't a character I like to think about or write about, so that really only leaves one more bully. Sorry Azimio.)

After Kurt leaves he feels brave and strong, like he can do anything in the world, can lift any weight and push any door open and that nothing can get in his way.

It’s love and it’s hope and it’s every crazy feeling Kurt makes him feel and it’s finally being able to see his future, see a path, when just a few months ago he couldn’t even see himself with how dark it was.

So he calls his dad. His dad is just as stubborn as he is, if not more, but he’s more determined now than he ever has been before. He won’t submit, he won’t cave, he can’t he really can’t because nobody on this earth is going to tell him _no_ now that his _yes_ means so much.

No more telling me I’m not good enough.

No wait.

Go ahead. Tell me. Tell me I’ll never be enough go ahead because for the first time in my life, I do not care.

Not a single bit.

His dad reacts the way he thought he would. He stutters and stammers and tells Blaine no, question after question and _what about school?_ and _you’re eighteen years old that does not make you a mature adult just take a look at your brother!_

After a half hour he gets tired of repeating himself. He knows he can’t make his dad see what he sees, he knows this is a fight he just can’t win.

_“You cannot move to a city without any money or any plan just because your boyfriend is going there it’s ridiculous it’s insane -”_

“I know it is. But I am, so you can suck it.”

_“Blaine, have you seriously thought about this?”_

“No, but I don’t need to.”

_“You can’t expect us to support you financially. One son is bad enough -”_

“I don’t expect you to do anything. It’d just . . . be nice to finally have you on my side for once.”

His dad goes quiet.

Blaine has never, ever asked his dad for anything because he knows he’ll never get to keep it, and his dad never knows what to give him.

_“Blaine . .”_

He shakes his head and bites his lip and tries not to let it ache in his chest, because he really doesn’t care, he can’t.

“And even if you’re not - even if you don’t agree -” he chokes out, closes his eyes tight. “I’m doing it anyways. I’m not changing my mind.”

Then his dad doesn’t sound like his dad at all, his voice coming out quiet, defeated as he asks, _“Do you really think you can survive there?”_

He doesn’t need to think of his answer.

“I don’t know. But I’m going to try.”

Another moment of silence, and then his dad sighs, _“Okay.”_

It’s more than he’s ever been given.

He doesn’t even need it.

-

“You’ve got this,” he says, hands tight around Kurt’s shoulders, walking them through the halls. “Think of your enemies, Kurt. Pretend they’re all watching and if you nail this audition then Zeus will strike them all dead with a lightning bolt.”

“Blaine,” Kurt sighs, dropping his head down and laughing, and Blaine can feel the tension melt out of his muscles.

He rubs Kurt’s shoulders again, leans up on his toes a bit to whisper in his ear, “And just remember that I love you.”

Kurt turns around, seemingly oblivious to all the students walking around them, standing with Blaine in the middle of the hallway. “How could I forget?”

Blaine tugs at the front of Kurt’s shirt, smirking to himself as he remembers _everything_ from last night.

“Remember that you’re gonna escape,” he continues to whisper, maybe only so he can hear it for himself. “You’re gonna make it.”

But Kurt still hears him, and whispers back, “With you.”

“With me.”

Kurt’s audition is after lunch. He thinks he might be more nervous than Kurt is.

But he knows he’s got this. Anyone with functioning eyes could see it, see how great he is, this school is just blind, this school is just too used to the dark that they refuse to see.

In the crowd of the hallways, you’d think he wouldn’t be able to hear anything but the noise of all the students, but he can really only focus on Kurt, he’s the only thing he wants to focus on. But then somebody is bumping his shoulder roughly, like they’re trying to walk right through him, pushing him and Kurt back.

“Isn’t that cute?”

He whirls around, hands clenching into fists, watching the retreating figure of Azimio Adams, who’s always been a dick, running his mouth off in class thinking he’s funny, getting into fights with Puck and Finn but he never thought that he -

“He’s got his little guard dog protecting him.”

He nearly jolts forward, but with Kurt’s hands locked on his arms he can’t, so he settles on shouting out, “Yeah he does, so you just keep on walking!”

He doesn’t turn back, like Blaine’s challenge isn’t even worth batting an eye at.

“Blaine,” Kurt says lowly, mouth close to Blaine’s ear. “Blaine, come on, it’s fine.”

“Is he one of them? Azimio?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t -”

Kurt’s used to so much worse, of course he’s fine with a simple taunt, but it’s never been directed at Blaine. He feels so mad he doesn’t know what to do with himself or with his hands or with his eyes which stay open wide, and his breathing has suddenly increased and -

“He can’t just - Kurt - you need to tell me -” he spits, trying to shake free from Kurt’s grip. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t punch his brains out!”

Kurt pulls him back a little more forcefully, turning him around, like he’s able to feel the anger ringing through Blaine’s muscles, extinguishing it with his hands.

“If you can give me one good reason as to how it would make you a better person,” Kurt says calmly, flatly, running his hands up and down Blaine’s arms.

He scoffs, glares down at his feet and mutters, “So I take orders from you now, huh?”

“He’s - he’s nothing, Blaine, it’s not important - try to remember, one more month,” Kurt says so surely, smiling so hopefully. “One more month and then we’re free. They can’t get to us.”

With Kurt’s hands on his arms and his voice in his ears, he finally takes a calm, deep breath, and believes in that instead of them.

“Right. Right.”

-

Kurt changes the song he was going to sing.

Blaine’s never heard it before.

He feels sorry for whoever originally sung it, whoever they may be, because they should be ashamed of themselves for even trying because nobody will ever or has ever sung it like Kurt Hummel.

If Kurt is the light then he makes that whole stage shine, a never ending show of shooting stars, in gold fucking pants and legs that can kick - really really high and -

But as overwhelmed as he is, not for one second does he doubt Kurt or get lost in just the music, because Kurt is the star here and he gets to watch Kurt put everything he needs, putting his escape and how bad he wants to be free into every move and every word.

How is Kurt his? Honestly, how?

He doesn’t know the person watching his audition, but when she says the word ‘impressed’ and speaks with a hint of pride in her voice, he wants to kiss her and hug her and send her a goddamn muffin basket because she seems to be the only other soul who can see Kurt.

He’s going to make it.

There’s no way he can’t.

-

“You’re incredible. Have I told you that yet?”

“Yes, just about thirty times in the past ten minutes.”

“And where did you find those pants holy shit -”

He pushes Kurt onto his back and climbs over top of him, the bed creaking too loudly underneath them, and they both whip their heads around to stare at the open door, waiting for Burt’s voice to come through or for mad footsteps marching up the stairs.

He looks back to Kurt and laughs. “One day we won’t have to worry about this.”

Kurt leans up and kisses him, mumbles against his lips, “I can’t wait.”

“I want to go now.”

“Soon,” Kurt says, then looks away, pursing his lips together. “Do you think Rachel’s going to be okay?”

Because Rachel’s audition hadn’t gone the way Kurt’s did, and he feels bad, he really does, but she’s not the person he’s in love with, so he can only focus on Kurt.

“I don’t know,” he says, leaning off of Kurt a little. “You’re her best friend, you should know.”

“She deserves an escape too.”

“And she’ll get one,” he says, though he’s not sure if he believes it. “I dunno, she doesn’t seem like the kind of person to quit so easily.”

Kurt nods, rolls them over so they’re laying on their sides, face to face. “And neither are we. Did you call your dad?”

He looks away, to the bedspread, then turns onto his back and looks up at the ceiling.

“I did. He said okay."

“That’s it?”

“That’s a lot. What about your dad?”

“He’s not surprised,” Kurt laughs, and leans over Blaine to press a kiss to his cheek, gentle, soft, making Blaine shut his eyes and smile because even with Kurt here, right next to him, he can’t believe he’s his.

“So now what?”

Kurt sits up, looks around his room, and he sighs out his breath like he’s been holding it for years.

“I need to start labeling things.”

It’s not what he thought they’d do tonight, but Kurt hands him a stack of sticky notes, with clear instructions on what colour means what and where they’re supposed to go.

Kurt gets lost a few times, staring wide-eyed at a picture or a book or a memento of some sort, telling Blaine what it means to him and why he wants to keep it, or why he wants it to go.

It finally starts to feel real. Like - holy shit, today was it, the last day they needed to pass to go on. Kurt killed it. He knew he would. And now all that stands between them and New York is a few short weeks and a graduation ceremony. Oh, and prom, they can’t forget prom, and as they move around the room labeling things together Kurt talks about the outfit he’s going to wear, telling Blaine about the tux shop he can rent his from -

And it’s terrifying, to look around a room so full of Kurt’s life and have every piece of it picked apart, labelled, some staying, some going, some being trashed. It’s Kurt taking all of his memories and deciding what gets to stay in his life and what has to leave and it’s Kurt turning around and smiling at Blaine and _choosing_ him.

He never doubted that they were in this together. Of course it feels too good to be true, of course, but he doesn’t think about it breaking or it being ripped from his hands or not getting to keep it, because if Kurt’s choosing him then he is never going to stop trying to make sure it works.

Kurt places a blue sticky note on the Rudolph stuffie, smiling to himself and ignoring Blaine’s look.

Choosing him.

He smiles to himself too, because there’s never really been a choice for him.

It’s always been Kurt.

-

“This is dumb, Kurt,” he whines, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, looking up at the ceiling of the auditorium.

Regular glee club sucks. ‘Booty Camp’ was designed with the sole purpose of destroying his brain cells, obviously. Coach Sue is here for some reason, walking around with a ruler, slapping it loud against her hand every time somebody steps out of line, and he’s tired, wants to just quit this stupid fucking club because he’s not even needed here.

Kurt holds the front of Blaine’s hoodie, tightening his grip. “Please?”

“I don’t need extra dance practice.”

“Come on, Blaine!” Mr. Schuester cheers, coming up right behind him and patting him on the back. “We need all hands on deck here with Rachel not participating. You need to pitch in.”

His face hardens into a glare, fixed solely on Mr. Schue’s dumb smug expression, and he says lowly, “Technically, I don’t need to do anything here. My detention is long over.”

Coach Sue laughs viciously.

“Oh, I’ll get him to dance,” she drawls, pacing around him in a circle, eyes almost predatory on him. “Just let me go get my crossbow . . .”

He sneers at her, but Kurt pulls at him more insistently, so he drops his head down and sighs, and takes his place in the back behind everyone else.

-

He knows it’s important to Kurt to win. He knows how important it is to everybody else.

He’s come to learn and sort of like everyone in the glee club. Artie and Sam and Mike talk comic books with him when Kurt shows no interest, Finn is an even worse dancer than he is, Santana is sort of kind of bearable when she’s not making things up about him, and everyone else has sort of just - accepted him.

So he wants to try for them, because winning this thing might just make up for all the years of them getting slushied and ridiculed and humiliated, but he can’t get himself to be that brave, to be that vulnerable. He keeps telling himself tomorrow, tomorrow I’ll try, tomorrow I’ll tell Kurt I’m finally giving in to all his duet ideas and that I’ll sing with him.

I’ll try, because it’d be really nice to win for once.

-

“Oh my god,” Kurt _shrieks_ \- he doesn’t expect him to shriek - and covers his mouth with his hand, eyes wide on Blaine. “You’re - you’re going to sing with me?”

He shrugs, keeps his eyes trained on his shoes because Kurt’s enthusiasm is so easily contagious he feels sick from it.

“I dunno about singing, but providing background vocals? Maybe.”

“Oh my god!” Kurt shrieks again, and lunges at Blaine, throwing both arms around him and knocking him off balance. “I love you so much!”

“Kurt,” he laughs, stroking down Kurt’s back. “Don’t get too excited, I said maybe -”

“I have to go home. I have to go home and prepare something - what are your preferences?”

He smirks, brushes his fingers along Kurt’s side. “You.”

Kurt just scoffs, swatting Blaine’s hand away. “Now is not the time! Oh my god - should we wear matching outfits? Who should we pay homage to -”

He’s in love. He already knew that, he’s known that for a while. It’s just that when Kurt goes around talking like that and smiling like that, Blaine’s mind struggles to keep up with his heart, caught in a moment of incredible disbelief, can’t believe Kurt’s real and Kurt’s _his_.

He walks Kurt to class, struggling to control his smile, tugging a little at the front of Kurt’s jacket.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he says, trying to sound serious but faltering, smile growing too wide.

Like the entire world is just them, and nothing else exists, Kurt steps closer and kisses Blaine’s cheek, quick and fast and then gone.

“This is really brave of you, Blaine.”

He walks away with a little wind in his sails, because the loveliest, bravest boy in the whole world just called _him_ brave, and he thinks that even if they don’t win Nationals, he’s still a winner.

-

Brave. He’s brave. Maybe he’s not enough but somehow being brave makes up for that, being brave proves that he _can_ be enough, being brave means that even if he isn’t enough, he’ll still push through it.

Being brave and being with Kurt and nothing, not a single thing, is going to get in the way of that.

So when he passes Azimio on his way to class, he grits his teeth and keeps his head up and keeps walking, feeling more like Kurt than he ever has before.

It’s terrifying, he doesn’t know how Kurt does it. To pretend that the person you’re walking by isn’t capable of destroying you, acting like you just don’t care.

He cares. More than anything he cares because somebody has to care for Kurt, somebody has to be on his side. But he keeps walking because Kurt already _knows_ he’s on his side.

Walking down the hall and away, right, just like Kurt would do, right -

Until Azimio stops him, shouts after him, “Guard dog’s off his leash! Everyone look out, I hear it’s got rabies.”

He presses his teeth together so hard it hurts, aches along his jaw. He takes a deep breath to release the tension, has to stay smart about this, turns around and asks, calmly, “What did you just say?”

Azimio doesn’t even look phased - of course he’s not phased hurting people is like breathing for him - and shrugs, grins, says, “Nothing man, just keep walking.”

So he does. That’s what Kurt would do. Kurt wouldn’t sink to that level, wouldn’t let meaningless words get to him, that’s what being brave means.

But he doesn’t even get one step away before Azimio is calling out, “Oh, but hey! Mind telling your girlfriend that she’s not allowed to wear another skirt to prom? My eyes barely survived last year.”

In that split second, with Azimio’s words ringing in his ears and Kurt’s voice in his mind, he completely reevaluates the meaning of brave. Because no - no fuck that, being brave is standing up for those you care about and -

And nobody has ever insulted Kurt to his face before. He’s always been two steps behind, unable to catch up, unable to identify who it is that’s hurting him, but now the suspect is right there right there he won’t - he can’t -

He shouts, “What is your problem?” and starts to march back, the pure calming voice in his head being washed out by the scream of rage.

Azimio is a lot taller than him, a lot bigger, staring up at him is like standing at the wall of a skyscraper and looking up, but he doesn’t back down, doesn’t back away.

“Listen man,” Azimio says placatingly, like he’s trying to be nice. “I don’t have a problem with you, ‘cause you look like an actual dude.”

“Who do you think you are?” He takes a step forward, tries to make himself look bigger, shoulders raised and arms up. “Do you even hear yourself when you talk, what it is you’re fucking saying?”

The halls are still too full, too many people watching, somebody’s going to break this up before it goes any further he thinks, so he doesn’t panic yet, doesn’t switch into that mode that he knows he can’t break out of.

He hears Kurt’s voice still, just faintly, and feels his hands and the kiss on his cheek because every touch of Kurt’s lingers and lasts, doesn’t let him go, so he takes a deep breath, clenches his hands up tight and doesn’t hurt him.

“You need to chill, I ain’t gonna fight you, Anderson,” Azimio says, hands raised in surrender, taking a step back. “I’m not entirely convinced there isn’t a switchblade in that thing you call hair.”

But god, if he can’t use his hands then he will use his voice, his words. Never any good at coming up with things to say, never knowing the right thing to say, but when his voice has been suppressed for months now, with the sudden insane need to _finally_ defend Kurt, it all comes out and it all makes sense to him.

He’s just one of the guys who have hurt Kurt, made him feel less than what he is, made him pull away from Blaine and made him _scared_. He can’t get away with it, he can’t -

“You think it’s fun to make people feel awful about themselves?” he spits, pushes into Azimio’s space. “You think it’s okay to hurt people just because they aren’t like you? I can’t fucking wait until you get out there in the real world and somebody does the exact same thing to you -”

Azimio pushes back, hands on Blaine’s chest, not shoving with his full strength because Blaine only stumbles back a little. “Wanna repeat that, you little ass eater?”

Every muscle in his body is on fire and there’s nobody around to put it out, so he can’t control anything as he pushes Azimio and shouts, “Yeah, I fucking do! I think it’s time somebody finally put you in your place!”

“I know where my place is, baby, and it sure as hell ain’t the bottom. But I’m sure that’s yours.”

“Take back everything you’ve said about him!”

“Or what? Gonna hit me?” Azimio looks just as wild, just as frantic, but there’s determination in his eyes, like he already knows he’s going to win. “Go ahead. Your owner isn’t around to stop you.”

Not yet. Not yet. He wants to he wants to but not yet.

His hands curl and uncurl by his side. He can’t hurt somebody with them when he still feels Kurt’s hand in his -

“Don’t you ever fucking think of the effect you have on people - what it does to them when you’re hurting them -”

Azimio laughs, smirks, and it’s clear then that none of Blaine’s words are getting to him, like he’s not even trying to listen. “Starting to sound like a real fairy.”

He laughs too, no humour in it, crosses his arms and fixes his glare on him, giving him one last chance.

“Why don’t you get your head out of your ass and listen to me, like a real man?”

Azimio’s eyes go wider, his entire structure crumbling before Blaine.

And then he snaps, “That’s it!”

The only thing more terrifying than walking by an enemy and pretending that they can’t hurt you is to have all six something feet of that enemy lunging at you.

He wanted this to happen, wanted to prompt him to attack first, that way he can say he didn’t start it, didn’t initiate it. Except he’s a bit caught off guard, stumbling back, not expecting to suddenly be covered and pushed by somebody twice his size.

He has no choice but to forget about Kurt’s voice and his touch, because now it’s not about getting by it’s about actually surviving. And if Kurt can handle four years of this by himself, then Blaine can handle it just this once, so he forgets about everything Kurt’s ever said to him and loses it, loses control, goes into that space that he can’t get out of without anything but his fists, and he attacks him.

Somebody has to care, somebody has to stand up for them, somebody has to be on their side.

Too many people are going to tell them they aren’t enough.

He has no other way to prove them wrong.

There’s a fist to his stomach and he chokes with the pain, but he grinds his teeth together and punches back, anywhere he can reach, the weakest parts of a human body, his throat his chin his temples anywhere and everywhere, because that seems to be what Azimio is doing.

Nothing else really makes sense. He feels the harsh clang of metal along his back when he’s shoved against the lockers, sees the colours of the hallway all whirling together, tastes blood and hears people gasping, laughing, one or two people crying out for help.

Nobody chanting _fight, fight, fight!_ because they aren’t fighting anymore, they are going to _kill_ each other.

When he’s shoved to the ground he really starts to panic, because he can’t push Azimio off of him, too heavy, so he rolls and thrashes and crawls out, doesn’t even register that he’s the one on top and he’s the one punching until Azimio is blocking his face with his arms, not even fighting back.

Something breaks.

That he’s sure of, the loudest noise in the world. Right underneath his hands.

(Hands that he uses to hold and take care of and love Kurt with. Hands that break stuff.)

There’s blood. He’s not sure if it’s his, or Azimio’s, or both of theirs.

The rest of the world comes rushing back, reality screaming in his ears, Azimio shouting underneath him, the pain in his knuckles travelling all the way up his arms and when he looks down at his hands, that is definitely not his blood -

Somebody pulls him off, rough hands that quickly leave, shoving him back, and his vision clears a bit, red fading away. A teacher helps Azimio up, another stands between them.

He’s -

He’s broken. He’s - he looks scared. Terrified.

Blaine did that.

He’s not sure what to do, his hands covered in somebody else’s blood, not even thinking about his own pain because all he can feel is the pain he inflicted.

“I -” He startles forward, hand reaching out, to do what he doesn’t fucking _know_. “Fuck - I - I’m -”

Azimio’s covering his nose with one hand, waving the other at Blaine, muttering out, voice wrecked, “- stay the fuck away from me you fucking freak -”

A teacher grabs hold of Blaine’s shoulder, pulls him back, and he lets him, lets himself be jerked around and away.

He wasn’t fighting for himself. He was fighting for change.

He just broke somebody with his hands, caused them to bleed, made them hurt, and he realizes, and he feels sick with it -

He suddenly understands why Kurt wouldn’t let him hurt them back.

It changes things.

Just not the way he wanted them to.

-

He waits for his mom in the room outside the principal’s office, sitting in complete silence, holding a towel to his head. Quiet little room. Too quiet. Not even his mind makes noise, no words or thoughts. Just blankness.

Maybe because he just got all the thoughts punched out of him.

His mom doesn’t know how to react, looks at him like he’s somebody else, doesn’t ask any questions as she hooks her arm around his back and walks with him outside, to the car, to the hospital because apparently, he wasn’t the only one who caused damage.

Seven stitches above his eyebrow. Three above his lip, so he can’t really open his mouth to say anything, not that he has anything to say. He grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut and pretends it doesn’t hurt, because it shouldn’t, but it’s been awhile since he had to get stitches.

He hurts. He hurts a lot. He hurts more on the inside because every time he tries to feel calm, tries to reason with himself, he’s just reminded that he did nothing right, he did everything wrong.

Hurts because the impending sense of doom overwhelms him, takes over every breath, he knows something bad is coming and he knows it’s his fault, he just doesn’t know what it is, what it could be.

Then there’s Kurt.

His eyes hurt too much to keep them open, so he closes them and leans back in his seat as they drive home, ignoring his phone tucked away in his bag.

What’s he going to do? Everything Kurt told him not to do he _did_. He hurt somebody. And it changed nothing about them, and everything about him, just like Kurt said.

“We have a meeting with your school on Wednesday,” his mom tells him, glancing over at his stitched up face, looking sick to her stomach, and Blaine can’t tell if it’s because he’s in trouble, or because of how bad he looks. “Your dad is going to want an explanation. He’s - he’s -”

“He’s mad?”

“He’s _furious_ , god Blaine - what were you -” she cuts herself off, hands going tight around the wheel. “You could have gotten yourself killed of course we’re mad -”

He closes his eyes, tries not to think.

“I’m not sorry.”

-

His mom keeps opening his bedroom door, poking her head in to check on him, asking quietly if he’s alright.

He just nods, stays laying on his side, doesn’t look at her and doesn’t say anything.

Could have a concussion. He really doesn’t feel anything.

It’s raining outside, so he listens to that, the only sound in the whole world. Because everything else is oddly vacant. He’s not sure if it’s just his brain playing tricks on him, or if the world really is that quiet now.

Should be.

He just did something that can never be reversed. Made a change in the path of his life that he can’t erase, can’t walk over or get around.

Took every single good thing out of his life, that’s what he just did.

He closes his eyes, ignores the way even doing that hurts too much now, lets his breath out and in and tries not to think of it.

Ignores it. Pushes it out. Nothing. The world is vacant, there is nothing else, he’d rather keep his mind empty as long as he doesn’t have to think about what he just did and every single thing he ruined -

He ruined it. He just destroyed everything with his own goddamn hands. He realizes he hurt somebody but it was more than that, it’s what hurting somebody means to somebody like him.

By hurting somebody he broke more than a bone, he broke his whole future.

His breathing starts to quicken, his chest going tight with it. Push it out push it out, don’t think about it, don’t let your mind fill up with a world that just doesn’t exist anymore _don’t do it._

And don’t think about Kurt.

Rolling onto his back, he stares at the ceiling and almost wishes he were more injured. Stupid to think, because being in pain isn’t fun, being in pain when he knows it’s his own fault isn’t a pleasant thing to feel, but he wishes it were more severe, so he wouldn’t have anything else to think about.

But thinking about Kurt hurts more than any injury ever could.

Once he starts he can’t stop. What’s Kurt going to say? What’s going to happen to them?

Oh god, he’s a monster, he knows that, he hurts people. He gets mad and he doesn’t think and Kurt has been hurt too many times, he’s going to take one look at Blaine and run. He’s going to fear Blaine.

Blaine can’t blame him.

He shuts his eyes, listens to the rain hit his window, can faintly hear his mom talking on the phone downstairs. Maybe he’ll sleep. Probably shouldn’t but when he actually thinks about it, everything hurts like a fucking bitch, too much, he deserves it but it’s too much . . .

A knock on the door wakes him up sometime later, and he jerks up, head whirling, blinks confusedly as his mom comes in.

“W-what -”

“Did you fall asleep?”

“I’m - I’m fine.”

She doesn’t touch him, just looks at him like she doesn’t really understand what it is she’s looking at. Her voice is cold, quiet as she says, “Kurt’s here.”

He goes still, every body part freezing when his heart stops beating.

“Tell him to go away,” he says decidedly, not looking up at his mom. “Tell him - _I can’t_.”

His mom shakes her head, says, “I already let him in. He looks pretty shaken up.”

She leans down and kisses his forehead, away from his stitches, pats him on the shoulder and leaves, like she’s not really leaving the decision up to him.

He really honestly can’t. He’s scared.

He sits up, meets his own gaze in the mirror across from his bed, and he does not like what he sees. What he sees is what he is, and what he is isn’t enough, and what he sees is not what he needs to be.

He loves Kurt though. He knows he has to go down there and let him see, let him really fucking finally see. Do anything and everything for him, he loves him, and it’ll likely be the only brave thing he will ever actually do.

The house is silent, just his footsteps creaking down the stairs, his heart beating high up in his throat.

Then Kurt’s sudden and abrupt, “ _Blaine._ ” and the void, vacant world _shatters_.

He hardly makes it down the stairs, doesn’t mean to but he runs, he has to run, he sees Kurt and he needs to be with Kurt and he hates himself because he knows he can’t, but he has to.

Kurt pulls away from where he was standing by the front door, meeting Blaine at the bottom of the stairs, and for one brief second Blaine thinks _this is where he pushes me away_ , but Kurt’s arms go around him, and suddenly he can’t remember why he ever thought that.

“Oh my god,” Kurt rasps, voice sounding wet and heavy and fragile, right by Blaine’s ear, his arms squeezing tight and his fingers prying hard into Blaine’s back. “Blaine.”

He crumbles. Being vacant and void, he knew with one harsh breath he would crumble, no support inside his chest. He has to breathe around Kurt though, has to stay real.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, his throat sore, his arms feeling far too right around Kurt. He’s not supposed to be sorry, this is what he was protecting, he shouldn’t be sorry he shouldn’t be - “I’m sorry, Kurt.”

He digs his chin into Kurt’s shoulder a bit too hard, he can’t control anything, he’s suddenly more afraid now than he ever has been before. Has to be everywhere around him, has to be close, can’t be apart god he can’t be apart don’t make him or force him to be apart -

“You’re insane,” Kurt cries, _he’s crying_ , tugging and pulling at Blaine’s shirt, like he doesn’t want to be apart either. “You’re insane you’re insane I can’t believe you -”

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t answer your phone I didn’t know what to do -”

He swallows roughly, shuts his sore eyes, pulls Kurt in closer. “I’m sorry.”

Kurt laughs, hard and sad and broken in his throat, arms somehow going tighter.

“Don’t be.”

-

This must be trauma. He thinks this is what happens when you’re hurt too much.

You’re just - blank.

When you so badly want to be full.

Now that Kurt’s here and he isn’t pushing him away, he so badly wants to just feel normal again.

They sit in the middle of Blaine’s bed, Kurt holding his face, inspecting the stitches like he doesn’t trust that the doctors did their job right, eyes hard and focused on Blaine’s, not looking disgusted by the swell of them, the bruises.

“I wish I could have been there,” Kurt murmurs, gaze falling down to Blaine’s lips. “In the hospital. With you.”

Blaine looks down, rubs over the knuckles on his right hand with his left. “No. Would have scared you.”

“Do you know how terrifying it was to get to glee club and have everyone tell me you got into a fight? I had no idea. I didn’t know - and not being able to call you or get to you -” Kurt gasps, lets go of Blaine’s face and turns away a little. “Hearing twenty different stories but not hearing yours -”

He doesn’t like Kurt sounding angry like that, hurt, left in the dark. He grabs his hand and pulls it into his lap, says while looking down, “I didn’t call you because I didn’t know what to say. How do I - how am I supposed to tell you that I -”

“I had no idea if you were alright, Blaine, I panicked.”

“I’m -” He wants to say _I’m fine_ , but he can’t lie to Kurt. “I’m sorry.”

“Just - can you tell me what actually happened?”

He swallows roughly, squeezes Kurt’s hand once more because this is likely the last moment he’ll ever get to just hold it. Kurt deserves the truth, Kurt needs to know who Blaine is and what he’s capable of, how much he can hurt people.

“Kurt - I need you to know - first of all -” He shuts his eyes and wets his lips, thinks of words, never any good with words, ends up whispering, “That I really love you.”

Kurt stays silent, squeezes Blaine’s hand back.

“I wasn’t thinking.” How many times has he messed up in front of Kurt? Broke himself and tried desperately to put himself back together in front of him? Too many times. Kurt doesn’t deserve this. “I tried to ignore him, tried to remember everything you said, but he was - and I don’t know how you’ve done it for this long, Kurt, because I couldn’t take it.”

Kurt keeps holding Blaine’s hand like he didn’t just fight somebody with them, didn’t cause physical damage with them. “It’s not easy, Blaine, I never said it was.”

“You’re the most amazing person, Kurt, you’re - you’re incredible, and not enough people see that,” he says, speaking too fast, tearing his hands out of Kurt’s so he can thread them through his hair, careful of his stitches. “Too many people don’t see that - or they don’t care and I - I had to try and make him see.”

Nodding, Kurt leans forward, like he understands Blaine.

“I don’t need them to see, Blaine, not anymore.”

“But they should!” he shouts, gets up onto his feet too fast, steadying himself by closing his eyes, taking a breath. “It’s not fair - why do they get to tell us what we are?”

“They don't -"

“I’m - I’m sorry, okay, I know, I didn’t know how else -”

Kurt looks up at him, eyes so fiercely determined it burns down Blaine’s spine. “I’m not mad at you. Please don’t think I am.”

“Great,” he spits out, feeling the anger that Kurt apparently isn’t feeling. “You’re disappointed. I know.”

“No,” and Kurt sounds like he’s pleading, begging. “I’m scared.”

“Like that’s any better.” He turns around, looks into the mirror and sees exactly what he is. Kurt’s right. He decides who he is, and he’s a fucking monster. “I told you - I was right I told you -”

Can he just stop thinking?

Kurt came and made his whole system start again, thought after thought after thought and he just wants to sleep, to feel nothing but pain, no more anger or hatred or this pathetic need to self-destruct.

“Blaine,” Kurt says, hysterically, and in the reflection of the mirror he can see Kurt’s frantic eyes, the way his mouth opens and closes like he’s at a loss for words. “I am not - I am not scared of you. I’m scared about what’s going to happen. Not you.”

He tips his head down and closes his eyes, because if the bravest boy in the entire world is scared, then there really is no hope.

Voice too forceful, too harsh, he asks, “Haven’t you realized by now that you should be?”

Kurt’s quiet, silent, maybe at a loss for words again, until he says, “Never.”

He wants to rub his hands over his eyes but he can’t, can’t touch his face, so he just shakes his head and ignores the dizzy feeling and tries to breathe, says, “I screwed up.” He turns back to Kurt and says it again. “I screwed up, Kurt.”

He can admit to that.

“It’s over.” Kurt reaches out, pulls Blaine closer to the bed, looks up and says, “You can’t go back in time and change it, it happened, what matters now is how we deal with it.”

“Don’t you fucking get it, Kurt?” he snaps, but doesn’t take his hand away. “This isn’t just some - stupid little fight. I’m in serious trouble. I could get expelled - his parents could press charges, Kurt, fuck -”

For once, Kurt looks stumped, stunned, hand going weak in Blaine’s. “It’ll be okay, Blaine.”

Like hope and faith is enough to keep him safe.

If only.

“You don’t know that, Kurt,” he says slowly, sitting back down, allowing his mind to open up and fill with those thoughts, flood with those thoughts, overwhelm and drown him. It’s more than his own future that he just fucked up. “And even if nothing happens, even if it all gets cleared up - I still did it, and I can’t forget it.”

Because he thinks about how it felt, to make somebody that scared, the worst feeling in the world. Azimio was blocking his face, like he couldn’t take it anymore, defending himself like he didn’t know how.

It didn’t feel like he was hurting another person at the time. Just another monster, something that needed to be defeated.

But it was another person. Another guy, just like him, with a family at home, with parents who - maybe his parents don’t love him, or maybe they’re like Blaine’s parents, or maybe he has none at all. He’s still a person. A person with bones, just like Blaine.

People like Azimio walk around with their head held high, hurting people like it doesn’t even affect them, like it doesn’t make them feel _this_ awful. And before Blaine thought - somebody needs to hurt them back, somebody needs to show them what it’s like to be in that much pain.

A little too late, but now he realizes . . .

They still don’t deserve it.

They don’t deserve pain, they deserve a chance to understand pain.

“You messed up, Blaine, that happens. People mess up,” Kurt says with all the force in the world, suddenly tightening his grip on Blaine. “I can’t agree with what you did, or say it’s okay, but I understand what you were _trying_ to do . . . and I still think that’s brave.”

He nods stupidly, feeling like he’s been struck upside the head again. Brave. There’s a word he thought he’d have to forget.

“People like that, Kurt, they shouldn’t get to tell us we aren’t enough.”

He’s talking about everyone. All the people who have hurt Kurt, everyone who can’t see him, and he’s talking about his dad and his mom and even himself, really.

“Thank you.” Kurt looks like he understands completely somehow, and says quietly, “Nobody’s ever - tried and meant it before. I don't think I would have realized - do you understand the effect you have on people, Blaine?”

He does now. He can’t afford to not understand that anymore.

Blaine laughs, rough and heavy in his throat, too hopeful. “So you’re really not mad at me? I won’t blame you if you are.”

“I wanted to be,” Kurt says, shaking his head, eyes up on the ceiling. “I had this whole scene planned out in my head, with slamming doors and crying in the rain and telling you what an idiot you are.”

He swallows, because it’s scary how Kurt can look so calm but still so determined. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because.” Kurt takes a deep breath, looks down at their joined hands, gently drifts his fingertips over Blaine’s busted knuckles. “You’re on my side, I’m on yours too. Whatever happens, good or bad . . . I’m with you.”

He lets his mind think of different scenarios. Acknowledges that horrible feeling in his gut, the one that’s been there ever since he was pulled away with blood on his hands, that feeling of failure, that feeling of impending doom . . .

He could face criminal charges, he’s eighteen now, no juvie no warnings no easy way out.

He could get expelled. He will get expelled. And no other school out there will take him, not with two expulsions, and he won’t graduate and he’ll live with that for the rest of his life.

And he won’t get to go with Kurt. Because he will not hold Kurt back like that. Kurt deserves -

Not a monster, that’s for sure.

“It’ll be okay, Blaine,” Kurt keeps saying, like he honestly believes that, despite his fear. He rubs up and down Blaine’s back, rests his chin on Blaine’s shoulder and pulls him closer. “We’ll figure it out.”

He listens to Kurt’s voice and feels Kurt’s hands, focuses on that instead of the pain, and tries to believe him.

At least it wasn’t for nothing. Blood isn’t that easy to just wash off, he will remember doing this for years to come, but if Kurt understands why he did it, then that’s something. He’s the first person to stand up for Kurt, he is not sorry for that, but -

Maybe Kurt isn’t aware of what exactly is going to happen. How bad things are going to get.

Maybe he does. Kurt always runs down the unexpected path. Maybe he still wants Blaine to go with him.

They did promise, after all.

But he won’t blame Kurt if he wants to break that.

“I love you, I’m sorry.” Five words that he will never not mean, god he loves Kurt and he is sorry about that.

Sorry that you still love me, because this is just what happens, how don’t you see -

He’s just as bad as them, and that is not what Kurt deserves. He would do anything for Kurt, just like they would do anything to hurt him . . . that should scare Kurt, because it scares him.

Love really fucking blinds you, he thinks, kind of like hate does.

Kurt sounds so sure when he says it will be okay, makes Blaine close his eyes and pull them closer to each other, and out of everybody in the world, Kurt would know, Kurt’s a victim of the hate, a victim of Blaine. And he still holds on like he doesn’t want to be apart, and it will always amaze and astound Blaine how he fucking does that, when he has every single reason out there to just let go. That’s how strong Kurt is, he guesses . . .

So he wants to do nothing but try and believe him.

Even though this is just what happens when he tries. It falls apart.

He doesn’t think he can anymore.


End file.
